A long, long, long time ago, a young, naive woman decided it was time to learn the ancient art of transforming simple threads into masterpieces of knitwear. Humbly, the young woman went before a revered, older member of the village — a grandmother who seemed to know everything about everything — to learn how to knit.
Patiently, this older woman helped the young woman pick out a pair of knitting needles, a skein of white yarn, and sat with her — for hours in front of a very hot fireplace — as the young woman fumbled about, trying to gain control of the stiff, metal needles and wily yarn. Eventually, something more than just knitting needles seemed to click with the young lady, and — like thousands of women before her — she finally understood and began to gracefully knit a few simple little soft, white rows.
Proud of her new accomplishment, and with the blessings of her knitting sensei, the young woman bought new yarn. Gorgeous yarn. Silky yarn. Golden honey yarn.
She was going to be a knitter.